


The Fae

by CelestialVoid



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Fae, Boys Kissing, Fae & Fairies, Fae Jaskier | Dandelion, Gentle Kissing, Kissing, M/M, Making Up, One Shot, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-13
Updated: 2020-11-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:01:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27536485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CelestialVoid/pseuds/CelestialVoid
Summary: Geralt takes a contract to hunt down a fae, but he was not ready for what he found.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 15
Kudos: 288





	The Fae

**Author's Note:**

  * For [loveyProphet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/loveyProphet/gifts).



> Happy Birthday LP! ❤

Dusk was creeping in, the light of the day dwindling as the sun sank towards the horizon.

The steady beat of Roach’s hooves against the old worn track slowed as they approached the small village. The old wooden houses were coloured by the dust and mud that ran through the centre of the town and lit by the flickering light of the lanterns that hung by the doors.

The town was quiet—not filled with the usual sounds of laughter and talk from the tavern.

Geralt pulled back on the reigns, slowing Roach more as they made their through the town.

“Witcher!” a man called out.

Geralt was almost taken aback by the tone of the man’s voice; he was so used to the word being shouted with viciousness and disgust, not relief or excitement.

A man stepped into the light of the balcony of the inn—a stocky man with long greying beard and an apron that had been dirtied from a day’s work.

“I have a contract for you, if you choose to take it?” the inn keeper proposed.

Geralt nodded briskly.

“There’s a fae that’s been terrorising out village. I’m willing to pay if you will get rid of it.”

“I will not take your coin,” Geralt said, dismounting Roach and reaching back up to help Ciri down from the saddle. “You can pay me by putting me and my ward up for a few nights.”

“It’s a deal,” the inn keeper replied.

“I shall begin hunting at dawn,” Geralt promised, walking Roach over to a nearby wooden bench and tying her reigns to the post.

He dug into one of the pouches on Roach’s saddle, pulling out a handful of oats and feeding them to her as a treat.

Roach ate the oats and farewelled Geralt with a snort.

Geralt stepped over to Ciri’s side, gently setting his hand on her shoulder and guiding her towards the door.

“I’ll see you to your rooms,” the inn keeper said, leading the way into the building.

The man walked them upstairs and into a room. It was sparsely furnished—two beds standing side by side and a fireplace on the far wall.

The inn keeper lit the fire, nodding politely as he excused himself from the room.

Ciri sat down on the bed by the fire, holding her hands out as the flames warmed her chilled fingers.

“Can I come with you tomorrow?” Ciri asked.

“No,” Geralt answered shortly.

Ciri spun around to face him. “Why not?”

“Fae are dangerous creatures,” he explained. “Some believe them to be demons, others think they’re demoted angles or spirits of the dead. Whatever the case; they’re devious, cunning, powerful, and dangerous. I will not put you in danger.”

Ciri bowed her head, turning back to the fire. “I want to be able to help you. I want to be able to fight.”

“Then I’ll train you,” Geralt offered. “But first, you need to bathe and you need sleep.”

Ciri pulled her boots off and turned to see Geralt preparing a bath for her.

“Very well.”

Geralt lifted the tankard to his lips, gulping down the cool, fresh water.

“Something struck me last night. There was a bard who came through town a few days ago. He was a little odd, but he spent the evening playing music in the tavern the night of the last sighting—the night before last. The strange part is he didn’t stay the night in the inn,” the inn keeper explained. “He’s most likely camping out in the woods. He might have seen something; if you find him, he might be able to help you.”

Geralt nodded.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he said, setting down the tankard and tossing a coin across the bar.

“You do not need to pay,” the inn keeper said, sliding the coin back across the counter. “Meals and drink are counted towards your say; it’s the least I can offer for your service.”

Geralt nodded briskly, returning the coin to his coin pouch.

He glanced towards the staircase.

“I’ll keep her safe,” the inn keeper promised.

“Thank you,” Geralt said, stepping back from the counter. He turned and made his way out into the street.

Even during the day, the town was quiet. Market stalls were set up along the streets; fruit stalls, stands stacked with bundles of cloth, fine silks and tailored clothes, and merchants who talked quietly among themselves. Yellow straw was strewn across the ground, tousled by the unsettling breeze that rolled through the streets, bringing with it a familiar smell: soft musk and the floral scent of buttercups and roses—a smell he had not encountered since the mountain.

Geralt felt a spike of fear drive itself through his heart.

The inn keeper had mentioned a bard, but Geralt hadn’t thought it’d be _his_ bard.

He drew in a steady breath, making his way down the dusty track that led out the back of the town and into the woods and walking in the direction that the inn keeper had said the creature had flown in.

The dry husks of leaves crackled beneath his feet, the rich smell of sweet petrichor filling his lungs as they walked along the muddy train and further into the woods. The trees towered over him, beams of light shining through the canopy.

Crystal-like droplets of dew gathered on the wavering blades of grass and delicate flowers grew along the edge of the path, filling the undergrowth with bursts of colour: white, purple, yellow, and blue.

He was surrounded by towering trees and thick shrubs, full of autumn tones of brown, gold and red, and lingering black shadows. Dense foliage hung overhead, enclosing the space, shutting out the sky and filtering the sunlight. Thin streams of light filtered through the leaves, scattering glimpses of light across the forest floor.

The sweet aroma of musk, roses and buttercups seemed to grow stronger, mingling with the smells of the forest. As he walked deeper into the forest, he was met with the bitter smell of ashes and charred wood. Further up the past he stumbled upon a campsite; a small pile for locks stacked in the centre of the clearing, blackened by fire and surrounded by grey ash.

Beside the small campfire lay a bedroll.

There was no blood, no odd smells—just Jaskier’s earthy scent.

The blanket of leaves on the forest floor was disturbed, a trail leading through the shadows of the trees and towards another clearing.

Geralt’s foot falls were silent as he moved through the shadows towards the other clearing.

The breeze brought with it the sound of music; a soft melody of strumming strings.

Geralt slowed as he approached, listening to the sweet voice as the creature hummed along to the melody.

They sat on the moss-covered stump of a fallen tree with their back turned to Geralt. The radiant sunlight played across his pale skin. The soft breeze blew through the tousled mess of his dark hair. He’s dressed in a golden brown jacket, decorated with brown lace and gold embroidery; unbuttoned and hanging open to expose a white dress shirt.

The streams of sunlight seemed to sparkle as it danced around him.

Their wings rested against their back, gleaming as they caught the light. They were like fine lace—translucent and covered in swirls of golden patterns like fine embroidery or ornate filigree.

He held onto a mahogany lute, strumming at the strings as he began to sing the words to the familiar tune.

_“_ _The red sky at dawn is giving a warning, you fool._

_Better stay out of sight_

_I’m weak my love, and I am wanting.”_

Geralt listened, his heart aching as he couldn’t help but say his name.

“Jaskier.”

The fae stopped singing, the sounds of the forest falling silent around them. He didn’t turn around to face Geralt—he didn’t need to; Geralt knew who he was.

“I know you’d find me one day,” Jaskier said, his voice saddened and quiet. “I had assumed it would happen later than this, but it looks like destiny is set on cursing you with my presence.”

Geralt grunted.

He wanted to say sorry, he wanted to say that he wanted Jaskier back in his life, but the words couldn’t come out. He wasn’t ready for this.

He had thought up a million ways to apologise to the bard; a million scenarios, ranging from those that ended in passionate kisses to those that ended with punches and bloodshed. But he wasn’t prepared for this.

“Well, Witcher,” Jaskier said, shaking Geralt from his thoughts. “How is this going to go? I imagine you’re here for a contract, so what is it they want: my head, my wings? I hope my death will at least bring you a large sum.”

Geralt was taken aback. Did Jaskier really think Geralt could ever hurt him? He’d never say it out loud, but the bard was his friend. But the words rang in his head: _“If life could give me one blessing it would be to take you off my hands.”_

He _had_ hurt him in the worst possible way.

“I’m not here for a contract,” Geralt replied.

Jaskier turned to face him.

Geralt lost himself in his eyes; the same azure blue eye that were as bright as the sky above.

But there was something about him; without the glamour to hide his power, he seemed even more beautiful; radiant.

“So, you’re here for a personal kill? To kill a fae and gloat of your victory I know that it’s a high praise for a Witcher to bag such a kill.”

Geralt felt his heart drop.

It hurt that Jaskier would think so little of him, that he’d assume the worst in him. Granted, he did deserve the sharp retorts and the anger that dwelled beneath those pools of blue; he had every right to feel hurt after what Geralt had said.

Geralt shook his head. “I could never harm you… not like that. You are no monster or something to hunt for sport.”

Jaskier tilted his head slightly, looking at Geralt with curiosity.

“Then what are you heard for.”

Geralt let out a measured breath. He took a step closer to Jaskier, then another, until he stood beside him, meeting his gaze.

Geralt looked deep into his eyes as he said, “I’m here to beg for forgiveness.”

“Forgiveness for what?”

Geralt hesitates—words were never one of his strengths; neither was emotion. He had Jaskier for that.

He drew in a deep breath.

“For hurting you,” he said. “For blaming you for things that were never in your control. For taking my anger out on you unjustly. For… For everything.”

Jaskier’s bottom lip quivered, his breathing shallow as his eyes began to glisten with tears.

“But, most of all, for not realising how much you truly mean to me. For not realising that I took you – and everything you did for me – for granted.”

Tears threatened to spill over as Jaskier desperately tried to hold them back. All the hurt—all the heartache he had held for months—fading away as he settled into the familiar warm feeling he felt in Geralt’s presence.

A tear fell past his lashes, glistening in the sunlight as it caressed the pale skin of his cheek.

Geralt slowly reached up with his hand, Cupping Jaskier’s cheek as he gently brushed away the tear with the ball of his thumb.

Neither of them knows who leant in first, but it didn’t matter; what mattered was what they felt when their lips met.

It was indescribable; a mix of passion and tenderness that made them feel complete.

One of Jaskier’s hands glided up Geralt’s arm, up his bicep and across his shoulder blade. His other hand ran up the nape of Geralt’s neck, lacing his fingers through his long, silver hair.

Geralit sighed in return, craning his neck as he deepened the kiss.

He drew back slowly, resting his forehead against Jaskier’s as he drew in ragged breaths.

Jaskier tilted his chin, bringing their lips together again.

They lost themselves in the kiss, letting the world slip away as they melted into each other’s embrace.

After a while, Geralt finally returned to his senses.

“How did you manage to hide this for so long?”

“I used a glamour to disguise myself,” Jaskier admitted.

“But I would have sensed it,” Geralt replied.

“It was strong enough to hide effectively, but weak enough that you – or any other Witchers – wouldn’t pick up on it,” Jaskier admitted.

Geralt nodded He’d never say it, but he was impressed.

“Why?”

“Why did I hide among humans?” Jaskier reiterated, trying to extract Geralt’s question. “Because I wanted a chance to fit in.”

He met Geralt’s gaze.

“And I found one.”

Geralt lifted his brow questioningly.

“With you,” Jaskier replied. “I’ve never felt like I belonged until I met you. I’m just sorry my presence brought you so much chaos and misfortune.”

“You are not to blame,” Geralt said, his voice soft but firm.

Jaskier’s met his gaze with a pained look. “I heard Cintra burnt.”

“The child is safe,” Geralt replied. “She’s in town, waiting for me to return.”

A look of relief passed over Jaskier’s face.

“You’re welcome to return with me,” Geralt said, a hint of pleading in his voice.

Jaskier blinked in surprise. “Are you sure you’d want me? I only ever bring you bad luck.”

“Bad luck follows me no matter what,” Geralt replied. “And I’ve never been more sure.”

Within the blink of an eye, Jaskier’s wings disappeared; the glamour returning his image to what Geralt had remembered.

“Witcher,” the inn keeper greeted him as he returned to the town.

“The fae has been banished,” Geralt lied.

“Thank you,” man said with a sigh of relief. “You and the girl are welcome to stay a few more nights.”

Geralt nodded.

Geralt made his way upstairs to the room, Jaskier following after him. He pushed open the door and stepped into the room.

“You’re back!” Ciri called out, her voice a mix of delight and relief. She ran to Geralt’s side and threw her arms around his waist.

He tried to hide his soft smile as he hugged her back. He stepped back, turning slightly so that Ciri could see the man that walked in.

“Ciri, this is Jaskier,” Geralt introduced. “He’s… a friend.”

Jaskier’s eyes softened as he looked at the young girl.

“You’re just as beautiful as your mother,” he said softly.

Ciri smiled, but there was a sad note to it.

“Will you stay with us?” she asked.

Jaskier looked up at Geralt.

The Witcher met his gaze, his orange eyes somewhat pleading.

Jaskier couldn’t help but smile.

“Yeah,” he answered. “I will.”


End file.
